


play, replay

by TheAmaretto



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, pre-High ☆ Speed!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAmaretto/pseuds/TheAmaretto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rin found old proof of who his father was, and perhaps a bit of who he was. But he was still just a boy, so who could be sure?</p>
            </blockquote>





	play, replay

Rin came across the dusty VCR player tucked on the topmost shelf of the attic room. Beneath it, in a garbage bag stuffed between his mother’s lacquered chest and Gou’s teddy she had (claimed to have) outgrown, he could see what seemed to be an endless stash of video tapes; when he tugged at the bag to free it, it ripped, sending tape after tape spilling and clashing out onto the floor like a heavy, plastic-sounding avalanche. It was lucky his mom was out on errands, else he would have gotten a stern reprimand for making so much noise. Maybe it was lucky she wasn’t there that day for other, more complicated reasons.

After all, that was how Rin found the only remaining records of his dad as a child swimming competitor.

No one had used the VCR in several years, but Rin remembered how to connect it to the TV and how to start it. Press one button, and then another, then slide the black box into the slot and wait. The first time he tried this was almost unsuccessful, with the loud whirring of the VCR and ominous clicking noises from within it banging against the silence of the attic walls. Finally, after one last determined click, an image fizzled onto the screen, and Rin found himself face to face with a boy he couldn’t recognize. He didn’t seem very memorable. Plain features, standard looks, wearing an easy but unextraordinary smile as he stretched beside the pool. After several minutes of lunges, Rin was tempted to turn the TV off and call it a day,

But then the boy smiled at something off-camera. He threw his head back, and Rin heard the young edges of a deep, heart-full laugh that he didn’t know quite yet, but _did;_ it was a laugh he hadn’t heard in a long, achingly long time.

Could he help it if the screen blurred a little? Maybe it was the low quality of the old, shaky camera. Maybe his eyes were a little puffy and wet. There was no one there to say anything about it.

So he scrubbed at his face, took a deep breath, and focused his gaze on the screen. He wouldn’t dare blink.

 

This marked the beginning of what some may call “youthful enthusiasm,” and what others may call “an unhealthy fixation,” or "obsession." All that Rin knew was it made him feel a rush of  _something._

He watched the videos as often as he could. His father’s technique, even as a child, was impressive and something worth studying for the sake of his own improvement. Rin hadn’t known his dad swam fly; it only further spurred his interest, and sometimes he’d return from a long day at the pool only to fly up the stairs and dig out a new, unseen tape so that he could practice his stroke on the grimy attic floor. There was a new world at his fingertips, a treasure trove of possibilities and opportunities that he couldn’t find in theory books alone, and all this from his own _father_ \--the reality was something he almost couldn’t bear to keep to himself.

But he did keep it to himself. Because he had heard his grandmother’s sighs, barely audible, when her eyes happened to catch the sea out the window; and he had felt his sister’s confusion as he flipped through a photo album and she pointed to the tall smiling man in the first page, asking, “Who is he?”; and he had seen his mother’s eyes widen at that, then slowly close, but not before something flashed in them that was so bright it hurt.

There was no one else who could handle these tapes. Old pain, lack of understanding, these were things that kept Rin from sharing his find with the rest of his family; that and he was, at his core, a selfish person. He didn’t want to share his videos. Not the one and only link between him and his father that he could call his very own; not the last thing he had left that could keep his dad _alive_. This was a burden that Rin happened upon, by accident or by fate; this was his, and his alone.

He had tried once to show the videos to someone, but it was a late-night sleepover and Sousuke was tired, already curled on his futon with a quilt pulled up to his ears. He’d watched the first several minutes of the 5th grade relay Rin had chosen to play, but his eyes began to droop in the midst of the butterfly leg, and with a yawned, “He’s...good,” rolled over and immediately fell asleep. Rin hadn’t minded, really. It was only confirmation that what he had wasn’t meant to be shared with other people. It was between Rin and his dad. It was something special.

 

As years passed and Rin grew up and he cycled through the entire stash of tapes several more times, a change began to manifest in the way he thought, deep in the back of his mind.

In the beginning he watched his father swim and thought, with a young boy’s excitement and pride, _That’s my dad_. This unstoppable athlete who whisked trophies into his hands and medals around his neck like they were nothing but a spring breeze was his own flesh and blood, this boy would eventually grow to be his _father_ , and what could be a greater achievement than that? To be able to say, without a shred of doubt, that this extraordinary person belonged to him in such a way,

But over the course of the next few years, something shifted. It was a tiny shift, imperceptible and unnoticible--but somehow, at some point, the words _That’s my dad_ curved around and became _I’m his son._

And that was an entirely different thing.

To say _I’m his son_ meant that Rin established an identity. He was the son of Matsuoka Toriachi, legendary child swimmer and loving father who tragically lost his life at sea. To say _I’m his son_ meant that as months flew by and he gained inches and weight and steady experience, Rin began to watch the videos no longer as a mere spectator to his father’s former glories, but now as an analyst examining his own.

 _I’m his son,_ Rin thought to himself. _I’m **his** son._

_But am I good enough to be?_

 

Three months after he first found the tapes, Rin had watched one in which Toriachi posed outside the doors of Iwatobi Swim Club and loudly proclaimed, “I’m going to be a gold-winning Olympic swimmer! I’ll be the best Japan has ever seen!” As a result, Rin had taken to saying the same thing when asked what he wanted to do in the future, with as much passion and determination.

But now, he rethought that statement. Now, he wondered.

Matsuoka Toriachi was his father. Had he chosen a different path, had life been kinder to him, he most definitely would have succeeded as a professional swimmer. He was all the potential the world would never see, seemingly lost to the winds, or hidden in a tiny pocket of time deep in the junk of an attic.

Rin was Matsuoka Toriachi’s son. He knew this with a soul-deep conviction. But--and this thought grew, and grew, and grew--he would need a way to _prove_ it. To whom was a mystery; to his family, maybe; to himself, maybe; to the boy on the television, maybe.

He selected a video from later years, Toriachi’s time in Iwatobi High, and tried to recall the name of the highly-ranked school in Australia for Olympic hopefuls as he leaned forward and pressed “play.”

**Author's Note:**

> unedited mess that this is i'm sorry and forgive me, i literally typed this up in the middle of studying for a quiz and i'm sleepy as hell i'll probably edit it later peace out


End file.
